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He wondered what the others were capable of. He wondered why his skin was itching so badly. Squeezing Daven’s hand, still wrapped around his, he even wondered why he hadn’t let go.
Ryneth’s pulse stumbled. The itch in his gums turned into pressure. Heat coiled low in his stomach, wrong and unwelcome. He clenched his thighs together, but his body reacted anyway. Not from want, but from the pressure under his skin. From Daven’s hand still wrapped around his.
“We do share certain similarities,” Zimeon said after a beat.
“Such as…?”
“We came across some complications. Something we hadn’t foreseen in the injections. A side effect of the power.”
“…Which is?”
“We get off on violence.”
Ryneth’s mouth fell open in shock. “Violence? Well, I don’t.”
“That’s what every new family member says, Ryneth,” Zimeon reassured him.
It didn’t work. Ryneth felt trapped between raw fear and that damn regret he hadn’t managed to shake off ever since he set foot inside that space shuttle.
“Can you feel how your teeth are aching?” Milanov asked softly.
Ryneth shook his head and wanted to bite his tongue when it reached for his gums again. He was not going to give in.
“Aethera, don’t lie to yourself,” Daven mumbled against his ear, creating gooseflesh when his air caressed Ryneth’s groin. He stifled a groan and shook his head.
He had to get out of here.
“The Imperial is right,” Mirel said. It was the first time Ryneth heard his voice. He didn’t miss how Kylix’s grip around the other man’s waist tightened. “It’s hard the f-first time, but you’ll get used to it. Trust me.”
That was the worst part. Not that his body reacted, but that he kept catching small, human things anyway. Daven holding his hand. Mirel’s voice shaking. Cyprian watching him like he mattered. It made hating them harder, and that made everything worse.
Trust him? Ryneth scoffed. He wasn’t going to trust him. Or any of these monsters, for that matter.
Because that was what they were. He had seen enough violence in his life to know he didn’t get off on it.
And yet…something ached between his thighs. His stomach swooped. Heat crept up the back of his throat.
Someone smoked a red cinder cigarette next to him, and Ryneth’s nostrils flared as the opium reached inside, settling in his gut.
“Let me show you.” Milanov gestured to the guard. “Bring in the prisoner.”
Two Luminary guards marched in, dragging a man between them. He wore a purple jumpsuit, the fabric torn, as he clawed and fought.
“Let go of me, you son of a bitch. Let. Go!” He snarled, then looked up, as if he’d only just realized other people were watching. He froze. For a moment, his eyes clouded with the fear of a man who knew he was going to die, but then they hardened. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“Oh, yes you are.” Ryneth’s heart jolted when he watched Moargan stand and slowly circle the prisoner. Leaning in, he sniffed the man’s nape, laughing when he tried to recoil and strike at him with his shackled hands. “He’s terrified. I can smell it and it’s the most delicious thing in the world. Ryneth? Come here, pup.”
“No.” Ryneth pressed his back against the couch. His skin prickled. Something was happening to him. It wasn’t the opium, at least not all of it.
The Imperial was wrong. He didn’t love violence. He hated it. The injustice, the pain, the sorrow…
“Come on, aethera.” Daven’s breath was hot on Ryneth’s ear. and he shivered. “Don’t you want to play?”
Kylix stood. “Perhaps this will help you. This man is a member of Concordant. A fellow Düren.”
“Concordant?” Ryneth asked before he could swallow the words. His vision brightened as he took in the prisoner through a different lens. “Prove it.”
The prisoner hissed when the guard rolled up the sleeve. There it was. The spiral tattoo. It sat on the inside of the man’s forearm, etched with surgical lasers rather than ink. Without looking away, Ryneth rose and stepped closer. From closer, it looked more like a brand and less like art.
